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About Zaporizhzhia

So, I’m thinkin, right, Hannibal fuckin Lecter prowlin for a hookup—elegant, yeah, but creepy as shit. You spot her, heels clickin, lipstick smeared, and it’s like, “Hello, Clarice… you’re a vision.” But nah, it’s no movie—this chick’s real, breathin, probly seen worse than me. I dig that, makes me smirk. Little known fact, yeah? Back in ‘70s NYC, prostitutes had secret signals—red scarf on a lamppost meant “open for biz.” Wild, huh? History’s fuckin weird.

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So, I’m dodgin’ her like I’m in some weird game of dodgeball. I finally make it to the fish stall. You’d think I’d be in heaven, right? Wrong! The fishmonger, Vasyl, was havin’ a bad day. He’s throwin’ fish around like he’s in a seafood fight club. I just wanted a nice hunk of salmon, but he’s like, “No salmon today, only mackerel!” Ugh, mackerel? Really?

Frontline report: Ukrainians conducted another landing across Dnipro, while Russians tried to eliminate previous bridgehead